Interlude
by Hystaracal
Summary: A small outtake from Détraquée, from Theo's perspective, nestled somewhere within chapter 37.


**This is the one and only time I'll go behind the scenes of Détraquée, because it's mcal's birthday. So happy birthday, buddy. I hope you like this little piece of Theo. **

**(I own nothing, etc etc) **

**.**

* * *

When Theo was very young, he loved the rain. He loved it when it roared and rumbled loud enough to drown out the din inside his enormous childhood home, when crashing claps of thunder masked his father's booming voice.  
Some of his favourite, most lucid memories involved the rain. The time he stood with his face pressed against his bedroom window, sniffling, shivering... and old Boffin, his mother's elf, bought him hot chocolate and healed the bloody gash on his cheek. And then there was the time he was sitting in his mother's lap while she combed her fingers through his overlong fringe, smiling fondly as she said, "I don't care what your father says, I refuse to let him cut it."  
The rain had poured and Theo made his first ever resolution: His hair would always remain inconveniently long, so that mother would always have a reason to smile so.

It was raining the night he'd bawled into Narcissa's lap.

Since then, the familiar _pitter-patter rumble-boom _never failed to uncover that particular memory. Father screaming, mother pleading, furniture crashing – BANG: His tragic, defining moment. The day he became _that Nott boy with a dead mum_, forever followed by a whispered, _oh don't you know? They say his father killed her_.

Fuck the rain. Seriously.

Theo, painfully disgruntled and agonizingly _seventeen,_ scowled towards the ceiling and shook his head free of distressing remembrances.  
_Fuck it up the arse and leave before sunrise_, he thought, stuck in a lurid, suffocating kitchen, all alone, slicing those detestable Gurdyroots.  
"Fuck it to hell and back," he groused under his breath. Gurdy-juice trickled down his fingers.

The rain paid no heed to his castigation. Somewhere out in the wilderness, there was a girl, small but forceful – so brave – shivering in a sodding tent.  
Had it really been two months since he'd seen her?

Gurdy-juice spilled over the edge of the chopping board and puddled on the bright orange table underneath. Theo put down his knife and drew in a long breath.  
_Hermione.  
_Pale yellow walls and cluttered, royal blue cabinets disappeared behind his eyelids. He bit his lip and pulled a bit of hotly protesting hope out from his heart and waited.  
He waited, he waited, he hoped – _Merlin, _he fucking hoped – that he'd once again hear the sound of a throat being cleared. That he'd spin around and it'd be her again, smiling tremulously. She'd hug him of course, in that warm way of hers that made him feel so cherished. She'd laugh at every stupid joke he'd make, evoking such poignant, overwhelming familial affection in him... the likes of which he never imagined he could summon for anyone else.

He opened his eyes to nothing but _pitter-patter rumble-boom..._ and they burned.

Was she okay? She had to be okay.

Casting a quick scouring charm on his hand, he dug into his pocket to fish out his lifeline, the most valuable galleon he'd ever owned. For several empty moments, he stared at it. It was something he did every time before sending her a message; he had to steel himself against the possibility that she wouldn't respond. That she might be in grave danger, and might not be able to get to it for ages. That she might've been captured and her galleon apprehended. That she might be _dead_ and she'd never...  
_Bollocks. _  
He closed his fingers around the coin, _hard_, and bit back a growl. That was a thought he simply couldn't bear to entertain. He shut his eyes again, tighter than before, and just tried to breathe.

Minutes passed, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely registered the door being opened and closed. Then, a much more potent registration: Two arms wrapped around his shoulders, and a kiss pressed against the top of his head. A gentle sweet, fruity aroma. Soft gossamer hair tickling the side of his face.  
Ah, his other lifeline. She always knew, somehow. Always sensed his distress.

"Luna," he murmured and opened his eyes. His vision was tinted blue.  
She didn't say anything, just grasped him firmly and shifted her mouth to press against his temple.

_Pitter-patter rumble-boom_. She held him till he was calm, till her scent had suffused his soul. He twisted his fingers around the ends of her hair and turned his face to kiss her properly. Deeply, slowly, gently. She hummed softly when they broke apart, looking at him with large silver eyes.  
"I love you," he told her, and she smiled.  
"Let me do that," she whispered.  
She sat on the chair beside his, pulling the chopping board towards herself. Theo watched – how beautifully pale her fingers looked against the reddish-purple flesh of the Gurdyroot – with his galleon still clenched firmly in his fist.

Just as he was finally settling into a space of sanity, the kitchen door opened again.

"I'm bloody _starving_," Tonks called as she waddled over to the larder, both hands pressed firmly against the small of her back.  
"Fresh Gurdyroot?" Luna offered kindly.  
"_Bah_," Tonks scoffed.  
She settled at the table with a large tin of chocolate biscuits and bit into one with peeved listlessness.  
"Remus off on another mission?" Theo guessed.  
"Yes," she grumbled, "Greyback's on the move again. Tracking a group of fugitive muggleborns somewhere in Surrey."  
"Do you think your fath–"  
"Who knows?" she snapped.  
There was a sudden violent flash of lightening and everything was, for a moment, stained an electric purple.  
"How," Theo began hoarsely, "Did you find out about this?"

He held his breath as Tonks surveyed him knowingly. "Yeah," she confirmed, "Draco's here."

As if on cue, the kitchen door opened for the third time. Theo turned as boots stomped against the floor, not at all harmonising with the _pitter-patter rumble-boom. _He was grinning before he could help himself.  
Draco replied with a nod. He looked gaunter than ever before; the shadows under his eyes like stains left behind by unrelenting nightmares. His hair was windswept and his cheeks were sunken, but when Tonks tilted the biscuit tin towards him, he smiled thinly and helped himself.

"How are you, Draco?" Luna asked in a hushed, weighty tone that she saved only for truly grave moments.

He shrugged and popped an entire biscuit into his mouth. Nobody spoke as he chewed. Theo felt his fingers flex involuntarily around his galleon and he looked down to watch the action. Red fingers, white knuckles... his veins were itching to burst out of his skin.

"The Carrows nearly killed Finnigan yesterday. He'd teamed up with Peeves and set their rooms on fire," Draco said suddenly, staring out the window at crab-apple trees dancing in the storm.

Theo swallowed. His stomach was rolling, but he never really knew what to say in such situations. He could comfort, he could cajole, he could bring in bursts of levity during uncomfortable moments... but when things were unequivocally shit? He didn't know what the hell he was supposed to do. And he _liked _Finnigan, he really did. He was a decent chap.

"But he's all right?" Luna murmured.  
"Yeah," Draco replied. He twitched and Theo _knew _he'd been the one to patch Finnigan up.  
"The Dark Lord's headed up to the Alps for some reason," he added, "I've told Kingsley, and they're going to try and get a few more people across the channel. Umbridge is too busy trying to track down granny Longbottom."  
He cracked a smirk then, a classic Draco smirk.  
"I hope she does find her," Tonks said dryly, "Augusta will give her just what she deserves, fucking bitch of the first – _OH!_"

Tonks' unexpected gasp had them all jumping off their seat with panicked queries at the tips of their tongues.

"What is it?" Draco demanded, kneeling at her side.

Her eyes were wide but she was grinning. She ran her hands tenderly across her bloated stomach.

"Nothing, nothing," she muttered with a watery chuckle, "The baby's begun to kick quite hard, you see... still surprises me sometimes... Gosh."  
Her eyes misted over as she continued to stroke her belly.  
"Oh!" Luna squealed, "Do you mind if I...?"  
"Go ahead," Tonks smiled.

Luna cleaned her hands and scooched her chair closer to Tonks. She placed both her palms on her stomach, bit her lip...

"Oh!"  
Both women cried with wonder. Luna whipped her head around to look at Theo and she beamed, wide and glittering – he felt like his axis had dropped to his feet. She was so, so, so fucking beautiful.  
"Theo, you have to feel this!"  
"Er..." he hedged.  
As much as he'd have loved to share Luna's delight, putting his hands on Tonks' distended belly was too intimate and –

"What about you, Draco?" Tonks, thankfully, interrupted his floundering, "This is your cousin in here, after all."  
"No, thank you."

He moved so quickly, he might have apparated. One moment he was crouched next to Tonks, the next moment he was standing by the kitchen window.

"Come on, boy," Tonks insisted, "The little un's got splendid leg muscles already. Have a feel."  
"No, _thank you_."  
Draco sounded mildly terrified. Theo felt laughter building up in the back of his throat, and it burst out when Tonks looked at him with a wicked grin and said, "Theo, man the door, will you?"  
"Theo, don't you dare–"

He loped over and locked the door with a complicated charm that Hermione had taught him ages ago. Then he stood against it and watched Tonks stalk towards Draco like a predator.

"Stop this nonsense at once!" Draco seethed.  
"Don't be such a... _baby_."

Draco shot away from the window and circled around the table, putting it squarely between him and Tonks. He lifted a finger warningly – "Stay right there, Nymphadora."  
"Oh, now you've done it!"

She ran like an adorably ruffled fat hen all the way to the table, until they were both poised at opposite ends, staring at each other.

"Put your hands on my stomach, Draco."  
"_Never_."

She took off towards him and he bolted. She chased him around the table twice before they came to another standstill.

"_Draco_...!"  
"I said NO!"

She feigned going to the left, but quickly switched to the right, arm stretched out to grab the back of Draco's shirt. He was too quick for her, and they ended up circuiting the table over and over and over again–  
No matter how many times Tonks about-turned, Draco remained out of reach.

"Come here, little shite!"  
"Leave me alone, you psychopath!"

Luna had hopped up on the kitchen counter; she was laughing. The gorgeous, airy, musical sound filled the kitchen, and Theo's own cackles mingled with it, perfectly, melodiously. He looked down at his galleon and after harnessing all the joy he was feeling, tapped his wand against it.

_'HALLOW, my dear buddy_,' he sent.

"What is wrong with you? This kind of exertion can_not_ be good for–"  
"Don't you worry about that!"

His galleon burnt.

'_Sod off._'

Theo laughed over his existing laughter, collapsing against the door. Relief, relief, oh relief. He sent Hermione a quick succession of messages:

'_Don't be unpleasant._' –– '_Why don't you visit again?_' –– '_Ask Xeno where the legendary Hopping Pot's at_'

And within seconds he got: '_SOD. OFF._'

Dear lord, he missed her.

'_No_,' He sent, '_All well?_'

A chair was pushed to the side as Draco scrambled to escape Tonks' grasping fingers. She'd come quite close just then. She wasn't an Auror for nothing, after all.

'_Well enough?_' –– '_What's happening at your end?_'

Theo grinned down at the galleon, then up at the nutters running around the table, and then back down at the galleon.

'_Draco's here._' –– '_Tonks is chasing him round the kitchen._'

'_Why?_'

'_Wants him to feel his unborn cousin's kicking prowess_'

The coin remained cold for some time. Theo pictured Hermione laughing. The thought made him feel absolutely _syrupy_... that he had amused her, wherever she was, however she was, in the middle of all the chaos and _pitter-patter rumble-boom. _  
And that bout of syrupiness dragged on when he got her next note – '_Sounds like quite the sight_'.

It certainly was. He picked up a corner of his scarf between his thumb and forefinger and relished the soft material.

He imagined a scene in the distant, oh-so-uncertain future; a similar, ridiculous scene of sibling contention between Tonks and Draco. Except the kitchen they were in was _his_, Theo's, in a place he called home, yet decorated much the same because it was also a place Luna called home.  
He imagined the dispute would finally come to a halt just as this one did – with Tonks beaming triumphantly and Draco scowling petulantly.

(In the present, he placed two very reluctant fingers on her abdomen.)

He imagined that Luna would hop off the counter and wave him over, and he'd sit on a chair and pull her, still giggling, onto his lap. He imagined the rain would come to a sudden stop and sunlight would pour in through the open window. In the remaining empty seat, he pictured Hermione trying to coax her hair into a bun. Her cheeks would be flushed with laughter. She would turn to sulky, surly Draco to say something that would make his brows jump up, his mouth quiver... that would make him bloody well laugh even though he didn't want to.

And it all made so much _sense_ that Theo's heart twinged horrendously.


End file.
